


The War of Wall Market; or Why Jessie Can't Join the Band

by ShoesyMake



Series: The War of Wall Market or Why Jessie Can't Join the Band [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Avalanche, Biggs and Wedge Form a Band, Biggs is the Goodest Boi, Gen, Jessie is a Hardcore Theatre Kid, Jessie is an Actual Gremlin, Partners in Crime, Pre-Canon, Pre-Sector 7 Plate Drop (Compilation of FFVII), Wholesome Adventures, shenanigans abound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24028996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShoesyMake/pseuds/ShoesyMake
Summary: When Jessie comes up against a precarious hurdle developing a stable home made explosive for Avalanche, she turns to Biggs for help with sourcing the materials. Jessie's straightforward request is not all it seems though and Biggs soon gets wise to her match-making aspirations...A fic following the pre-canon adventures of Biggs, Jessie and Wedge as they unwittingly uncover a major gang war about to erupt beneath the plate, and Jessie makes a discovery about what Biggs and Wedge have been up to in their spare time.
Series: The War of Wall Market or Why Jessie Can't Join the Band [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733389
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The War of Wall Market; or Why Jessie Can't Join the Band

**Author's Note:**

> First-time fic writer - thanks for giving this a look! This won't be ship-heavy, and is designed to slot neatly into the canon (or pre-canon); a few OCs to flesh out proceedings along the way, by mainly just Good Kids Jessie, Biggs and Wedge. Hope you enjoy!

“Wait, what happened to your eyebrows?”

It wasn't like a man to notice things like that, but then that was Biggs all over; he had that meticulous way about him, that compulsive attention to detail that was at once both impressive and irritating.

Jessie sighed, tugging off her gloves and tossing them on the table before uttering a single word of explanation: “Testing.”

“Oh,” he responded at length. “Not quite there, then?”

Jessie’s eyes drifted about the spartan furnishings of Seventh Heaven. “It’s normal - trial and error...”

“But?”

“I need little more of this, a little of that. I thought it’d be easy to come by, but...”

Biggs slid a beer across to her as she took a seat beside him. She cocked her head and grimaced at the dun-coloured glass. “Would it kill you to get a girl something sweet?”

“That’s gratitude for you,” Biggs mumbled wearily as he clinked his bottle against hers and took a swig.

Jessie examined it more closely. “Are these the ones Tifa ordered for you?”

“Gysahl Meadows Golden Ale,” he confirmed, pointing to the label. “You know, they use a special type of Carob nut in the final stages of the mash to drop the keg - it only grows in a total three caves on the entire continent.”

“Hmmm… well, at eighteen gil a bottle I hope it comes in a mythril chalice with a twenty-one gun salute.”

“You get what you pay for - we’re not exactly spoilt for the finer things down here.”

“Nah, you just gotta know where to look. Booze is nice and all, but for what a crate of these must've cost you, you could have taken you-know-who for a night out topside.”

He passed her a loosely forbidding look. “Drink up, already.”

“I’m just saying...” Jessie added as she took a sip.

It was a little after six o’clock in Sector 7 and a faint lilac glow was falling in ribbons between the unfinished stanchions of the plate above them. Jessie set down her beer, savouring the taste without comment, and turned to Biggs.

“On that subject, though, I do need a stabilising agent.”

“A what now?”

“For my little… _engineering_ project. There’s a couple types I could use, but they’re not over-the-counter kit. I’ll need a--”

“Nice try, but if you think I’m putting you in a room with those two again…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he supped his beer.

“Quit being such a baby. You want me to blow my head off next time? _Stabilising_ agent _stabilises_ things and _stable_ things won’t… go off without warning.”

Biggs rolled his eyes. “Well, tell me what you need and I’ll get it.”

Jessie upturned her gaze, seemingly weighing the proposition. “That could work - of course, you’ll need to memorise a few things. He’s probably not going to have exact matches, FLex-32e would be ideal, but don’t mix it up with FLex320e - a girl loses more than her eyebrows that way - but if that’s missing, you could go with a DWN derivative, _but_ ,” and she raised a finger for dramatic effect, “it’s not strictly a stabilising agent without a pre-prop catalyst. For a wet-base DWN that means--”

“Jeez, I get it already.”

“I’m just saying, this stuff is complex. If we were going through a registered supplier I’d hand you a list and send you out the door with a pat on the tush, but we’re a little off the grid here.”

He pulled what he hoped was a stern - a commanding - expression. “If I take you there, I need you on your best behaviour.”

She placed a hand to her heart. “I swear on the spirit of Gaia not to embarrass you again.”

“Good - and that includes telling her about--”

“Your bottle cap collection?” she beamed.

“About personal stuff, Jessie. This is strictly business.”

She stifled a grin as she sipped on her beer. “You’re blushing.”

* * *

As the sun began to sink beneath the skyline, Jessie and Biggs made their way through the twisting back alleys of Sector 7’s so-called ‘Slums’. Homely but haphazard, this assortment of scrapped-together buildings had been their base of operations for quite some time and increasingly it was the place they felt most at ease.

For two would-be agitators, it was an impeccable homestead: a furtive, forgotten underbelly, dishonest and desperate by day, but cool and compassionate come nightfall. Almost everyone had connections to some form of illegitimate enterprise - small but necessary cons to help them get by - but nobody was out to hurt the other and once the day’s business came to a close, there was always an honest beer and friendly face waiting to hear out your woes.

It was a little too small for Jessie, but she had friends and work, a place to live and even enjoyed a surprising level of respect for someone fresh off the plate. It wouldn’t be her ‘forever’ but it was fine for now. For Biggs, the size was fine, the people too - he just abhorred the dismal condition of the place. “They’re good people,” he would say, “they deserve better. All you’d need is a little logistical sense, a sizeable grant or two; you could have proper paths, clean water... there’s good bones under all this rubbish.”

Jessie agreed, at least in principle, but it wasn’t where her passion lay; she liked pleasant surroundings as much as the next, but she was a born actress, and what captured her imagination most wasn’t places, but people.

“What do you think it would take for everyone down here just to put their heads together one day?” she asked, almost rhetorically, as they skirted a stack of slowly decaying tires. “Get on the march and take the fight up there?”

Biggs shrugged. “Honestly, I think most people down here are happy so long as they’re left alone.”

“I know, but surely there’s a breaking point? People get sick, they lose family, they go without... Hell, there’s so much stuff you can get on the plate you can’t find around here. Do you think there’s anything that could happen that’d push them too far?”

“Well, everyone has their limits - look at us, we found ours - but you know, I think it comes down to ideals.”

“As in they don’t have them?”

“I think for most people it’s relative: ‘too much’ is a point they measure from wherever they’re at. It’s flexible: if they move a little, the limit tends to move with them. So long as no-one ever pushes them too hard or too fast, they’ll never reach breaking point.”

“And Shinra only ever moves a little at time,” Jessie added.

“Exactly - it’s gradual enough that no-one really notices.”

“Except Avalanche.”

“It's true: there are always people like us. For whatever reason, we know our limits and we don’t budge.”

“Hmm… I’d never thought of myself as inflexible.”

“Stubborn people never do,” he replied absently.

“I just--”

“This is it,” Biggs interjected, “looks like he’s home. Now, as I said, best behaviour.”

“Oh, come--”

“Please, just don’t go saying anything to Mrs. Lebrecht.”

“Didn’t she tell you to call her ‘Marlise’?”

“Jessie.”

“ _Fine_ : Ms. Lebrecht, then,” she relented. “Can’t be a ‘Mrs’ if there ain’t no ‘Mr’ around anymore.”

Biggs smoothed down his shirt and straightened his bandana, before reaching out and knocking very gently on the door. Jessie watched his little pantomime unfold from a short distance as he waited, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, moving his hands from his hips to his sides, folding them across his chest, refolding, relaxing and then back again. If only he’d trade in those short pants, she thought to herself - then again, that might be part of the appeal.

There was a clattering of tumblers in locks before the door peeled back to reveal the peering, pale blue eyes of Mrs Lebrecht.

“Can I-- oh, Biggsy, I wasn’t expecting you! And here I am in my curlers like somebody’s grand-mum!”

“Oh, I’m… sorry,” Biggs stammered. “I should’ve phoned ahead. I never thought--”

She swished the air dismissively as she threw open the door. A delicate, fair-haired woman of her mid-to-late thirties stood illuminated by the soft orange glow of interior gas lighting that hummed somewhere within. Her house slippers sat at sloppy angles about her feet and her shiny, walnut eyes sparkled with the startled timidity of a church mouse. “Oh, don’t be silly, you’ll just have squint your eyes and picture me in my glad rags.” Leaning forward, she then caught sight of Jessie. “Jessie, sweetheart, you came too?! Don’t you look well? So beautiful. Poor Biggsy must have to put his eyes in backwards.”

Biggs cleared his throat. “We’ve got a little--”

Jessie let out a good-hearted laugh as she stepped forward. “A girl should be so lucky; he thinks I’m immature.” She barged Biggs playfully as she came up beside him. “I keep telling him he’s old before his time, but you know him… I _love_ that cardigan by the way.”

Marlise looked down at the mauve woolen cardigan that tapered handsomely into her waist. “Oh, this? One of the few things TJ’s dad bought me that I didn’t feed to the furnace after he left.”

“It’s such a good colour on you.”

“Aw! You can _definitely_ come again. It’s lovely material as well - feel that.” Outstretching her arm, Marlise proffered the embroidered sleeve of the garment to Jessie, who eagerly reached out to caress the material.

“Oh, wow, yeah that’s _lovely_ \- _Biggsy_ , you should feel this.” Jessie turned her gleaming eyes towards Biggs as Marlise stretched out her arm to him. Biggs gingerly cupped the woman’s wrist in his hand and played a rough thumb over the supple weave.

“Yeah, that’s really quite soft,” he concurred. “Impressively so, but,” and he withdrew his hand once more, “nice as it is to see you, Mar-- Mrs. Lebrecht, we were wondering if TJ was about?”

“Biggsy, I won’t tell you again: call me Marlise. ‘Mrs. Lebrecht’ makes me feel so old!”

Jessie turned an admonishing look on him. “You should _never_ make a woman feel old - that’s really not nice!”

“All right, all right,” he protested. “It’s nice to see you, Marlise.”

“Oh, I feel bad now,” Marlise burst out with a giggle. “You look so pained!”

“Ah, don’t let him fool you,” Jessie cut in. “Those rugged good looks are just a cover for his squishy centre.”

Marlise smiled softly, a sudden serenity coming over her. “Yes... I can see that. Come on in you two, I’ll fetch TJ.”

* * *

“And that’s exactly why I didn’t want to bring you,” Biggs murmured as Marlise vanished up the stairs.

He and Jessie were standing in a dimly-lit dining area, the floor a scuffed linoleum patchwork and the shelves buckling with a horde of mismatched cookware and bent utensils. A stack of dog-eared magazines were heaped on one corner of a well-loved dining table, its surface pocked with scorch marks and strewn with a fine debris of crumbs.

“Someday you’ll figure it out,” Jessie replied, running her eyes absently about the room.

“That I should leave you at home?”

“That if you don’t want me to do something, you shouldn’t _forbid_ it.”

“All I’m asking for is a little professionalism.”

“I just want you to be _happy_ \- she’s so nice and I see the way she looks at you.”

Biggs rolled his eyes. “This is what I’m talking about - you can’t go mixing business and pleasure.”

“Don't be crazy, people do it all the time - you're telling me you've never been to a brothel?”

Biggs responded with a reprimanding arch of his eyebrows.

"Apparently, you are... Okay, well, take my word for it then, business and pleasure aren't always the worst combination."

“You know what I'm talking about.”

“Not really, but even if I did, you don't even _have_ business with her. Why don't you just admit you like her?”

Biggs let out an exhausted sigh. He folded his arms tightly across his chest and took in the room with an affected - almost theatrical - turn of his head. “It’s not easy raising a family down here by yourself. It takes resourcefulness - determination and courage. I…” He paused, meeting her eye with a solemnity that was too self-aware to be taken seriously. “I admire anyone who can do that - but you're letting your imagination run away with you."

“You can admire a person and still want to kiss their face, Biggs. And you _do_ want to kiss her face, right?”

Biggs flushed a deep scarlet. “I--”

The creak of footsteps on the stairs cut him short. Biggs glowered at grin-stricken Jessie who couldn't quite pull the smirk from her face as Marlise moved into the lambent glow of the dining room lantern. Jessie's amusement was cut short however, as she noted the strained look on Marlise's face - the cast of dread that wasn’t quite masked by the smile she was forcing.

“Looks like TJ’s out at the moment," Marlise began to explain. “He’s, err..." She rocked back and forth on the word, "he's p-probably popped out on one of his little jaunts.”

“Jaunts?” Jessie enquired. “Marlise, is everything okay?”

Marlise let out a low, deep sigh - a dry heft that was weathered and oppressed and worn with worry. “Oh, I’m sure it will be…” There was an unmistakable glassiness to her eyes; she turned her head away, drawing another slow, deliberate breath. “Just a bit of a to-do--” Her voice cracked, almost imperceptibly, on the last word.

“Wait, is he in some kind of trouble?” Biggs asked.

Marlise forced a humourless sort of smile and she took a seat at the dining table. “You know his line of work is a little dicey - keeps our heads above water, but sometimes he bites off more than he can chew.”

Biggs took a seat across from her and levelled his gaze to meet hers. “Is there something going on?”

“No, no..." she said, seeming to lighten, "it’s nothing really. I worry too much is all.”

“If there’s something the matter,” Biggs pursued, ”it's fine to say. We're all friends here.”

"I--"

"Maybe it's even something we could look into."

“You’re sweet, Biggsy, but I don’t want you getting tied up in anything serious.”

Jessie reached out a hand and placed it on Marlise’s forearm. “Honestly, we're not as innocent as you'd think and, besides, TJ’s been good to us - I’m sure we owe him a favour or two.”

Marlise nodded thoughtfully. “That’s very kind. I... I really don’t want anyone getting involved, but…”

Biggs got up and went to the window, peering out into the dark as though he expected to find trouble lurking just outside.

Marlise went on: “...if you’re sure you don’t mind, you could - without interfering - just check on him? I don't know... just to make sure it’s nothing too mad."

"Doesn't sound like much trouble to me - what do you say, Biggs?"

"It would be a weight off my mind, you know,” Marlise went on.

Biggs about-turned on the spot like a regimental soldier. “Just tell us where to start."

“Well, I wouldn't know to be honest, I just--”

“We understand,” Jessie cut in, “it’s just that if we're going to go sniffing around, we kinda need a scent to work off.”

Marlise drummed her fingers on the table a moment, nodding slowly and thoughtfully. A simple steel tin with a polka-dot pattern sat next to the stack of old magazines. She reached out, removed the lid and took out a small, foil-wrapped muffin. Peeling back the covering, she began to tear pieces from it as she spoke.

“There’s a man called Baylis Beaumont - I don't know much about him, except that he runs some business between here and Sector 6.”

“The Big BB!?” Jessie burst out.

“You know him?”

“We’ve had a run-in or two,” Biggs elaborated. “Small-time for sure, but he has some pull around Wall Market.”

“Yeah, I dated his brother once,” Jessie remarked absently. “Ugly, but kind of sweet.”

Biggs retook his seat at the table. “How is TJ involved?”

“Same way he’s involved with you, I suppose: BB needs things from time to time - restricted things - and TJ rips them off for him.”

“What would BB want with chems?” asked Jessie.

“Is that what TJ gets for you? Chems?”

“Well, STEMA’s a chemical supplier - if he worked in a brewery I'd have him rip off some decent beer for Biggs--”

" _Yes_ ," Biggs cut in, "he located some hard-to-come by items for us before."

“Makes sense, I suppose - I _do_ know someone in a brewery if you're interested though..."

"What was TJ ripping off for BB?" Jessie pressed.

"I really don’t know what it is, but I know it’s not the sort of stuff he’d get for just anyone. He says it’s ‘Black-Tier’ or something.”

“Phew…” Jessie murmured, “ballsy.”

Marlise and Biggs both turned to her, Biggs enquiring as to the obvious: ”What’s ‘Black-Tier’?”

Jessie bit her upper lip a moment, considered what she was about to say and then spilled. “Black Tier is the band restriction for Iodised Mako Phospherate - derivatives, props, primers, bases, by-products...”

“Hoo, boy...” Biggs muttered, turning back towards the window.

“He told me not to say anything about it,” Marlise added with a panicked tone, “so you can’t say anything, but-... can you tell me: is it bad?”

“You’ve heard of IMPs?”

“Oh, no, it wouldn't be that, I don't think.”

“That’s what it stands for - Iodised Mako Phospherate. That's Black-Tier.”

“The war’s over though - why would we even be manufacturing those anymore?”

Jessie took a moment and tried to explain: “It actually has a lot of uses outside munitions, particularly in heavy industry. It's got a lot of really unique properties, but it's obviously _super_ restricted.”

“I suppose the real question,” Biggs asked, thinking out loud, “is why a small-time crook like Baylis is buying IMP.”

“It's a scary thought,” Jessie concurred. “I wasn't even aware people trafficked in stuff like that around Midgar - a lot of folks would very nervous if they knew."

“Marlise, how long has this been going on?”

Marlise shrugged as she tore another piece from her muffin and popped it anxiously into her mouth.

"A month, maybe - it's only very recent."

"And does he go out on jaunts like this all the time?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "He hates to worry me, he only sneaks out when he's worried there'll be trouble. Otherwise, he kisses me on the cheek as he leaves the house like any other day. That's what has me worried: I can always tell when something's on his mind - he sneaks off without saying anything."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Jessie interjected then.

“Ah...” she shrugged, clutching her half-eaten muffin in both hands. “Last night?”

“He seemed okay then?”

“A bit short, perhaps - pre-occupied, I suppose? I just assumed it’s some tiff with Devigne. They've, uh... not been doing so great just lately.”

Biggs nodded thoughtfully. “Anything else off?”

“Well, he’s raided my purse, but that’s not the first time. He had some trouble before, had to come up with some cash at short notice. I talked to him, he was really sorry about it. Honestly, I was just glad he was alright - I can always earn more money, but--”

Biggs stood up from his seat and gently rapped his knuckles on the table: "I think that should be enough of a scent to go on. It's probably nothing, but we can ask around a little and make sure he’s not… _out of his depth_.”

“Oh, Biggsy, I don’t want you to put yourself out - are you sure?”

“Most definitely - like Jessie said, I'm sure we owe him a favour or two.”

A visible expression of relief came over Marlise. “You’re both far too kind.”

Jessie reached over once more and placed a reassuring hand on Marlise’s arm. “This is why I told my mum you never want sons - they always make you worry.”

Marlise looked to her, her eyes still glassy. “Thank you, sweetheart. And don’t let _that one_ do anything stupid either.”

“Biggs? Oh, don’t worry about him - he won’t even risk a glass of milk that’s been stood out too long.”

With that they took their leave. They walked in silence as Marlise watched them from the doorway, doing their best to seem relaxed and self-assured. In a moment they were out of sight - and the minute they were, Jessie grabbed Biggs roughly by his arm, pulling him into a small side alley.

“What in the _hell_ are we doing?!”

Biggs held up his hands. “I told her we’d look, that’s all.”

“Look!?” Jessie demanded. “Look into black-market IMP deals between Wall Market mobsters?”

Biggs huffed impatiently. “Keep it together. We both know folks who _know folks_. We just put out a few feelers and make sure TJ’s not tied up in anything he can’t handle.”

“And if he is? Because it _really_ sounds like he might be.”

“Then we’ll figure it out when we get to it, but all I promised was strictly on a fact-finding basis.”

Jessie screwed her mouth into a frustrated little knot. “Well, I hope that you’re thinking with _that_ ,” she said, gesturing to his head, “and not those,” she concluded tipping her gaze towards his waist.

“Those?” he asked, nonplussed, as she turned to leave. "What do you mean, 'those'?"

“Don’t make me point to them, Biggs, because I swear, the way I’m feeling right now, if I have to _point_ to them, I’ll do it a little harder than you’ll like.”


End file.
